Freaks Under Fire

by Maree Anderson

  There was one last priority to consider. Tyler. Her boyfriend. The young human male who professed to love her.

  Would he still love her after all that had transpired?

  Could he still love her after what she had put him, and his family, through?

  Jay raised her hand to the door buzzer. And, even as a part of her brain noted that her chest felt tight and her heart rate had escalated, another part accepted the presence of these physical symptoms and suppressed the prompt to run an internal diagnostic. Apprehension, Jay decided, was a very uncomfortable human condition indeed.

  She jabbed the buzzer in three short bursts and waited.

  She heard the thuds of hurried footfalls, and through the hazed glass of the door’s window, spied a fuzzy silhouette. Not Tyler. His father.

  Michael-who-preferred-to-be-called-Mike Davidson yanked open the door.

  The expression in his eyes, the compressed lips and tight muscles of his shoulders, shrieked tension, however Jay hadn’t detected any raised voices that might indicate an argument taking place.

  Observing Michael with all of the enhanced senses at her disposal, Jay concluded he didn’t appear overly upset, or distressed in the manner she had previously observed whenever he and his wife had a disagreement. Hmmm. If she had felt the need to pin a label on Michael Davidson—something Jay had discovered humans frequently liked to do because categorizing their peers made them feel more secure—she would have chosen harried.

  Michael blew out a strong exhalation that puffed his cheeks. “Thank God you’re here. Quick—before he escapes.”

  He?

  Jay confined her reaction to a slow blink. At this stage of human development, Marissa’s not quite three-day-old infant son should barely be capable of the coordination required to suck his own digits let alone trying to escape out an open door.

  Nor could Jay picture Tyler making a break for it. Her boyfriend wasn’t the kind of attention-seeking human who felt the need to draw all eyes by “making an exit”. Of course, if provoked, Tyler had been known to exit in such a way that no one would doubt his feelings—as Marissa had learned to her cost. But Jay couldn’t visualize Michael taking steps to keep his oldest son in the house if Tyler desired to leave. As Tyler might say, that wasn’t the way his father rolled.

  Perhaps Matt, Caro’s boyfriend—

  No. A scan of the interior of the house detected no extra male humans.

  Before Jay could request clarification, Michael grabbed her arm and yanked her inside, kicking the door shut behind him. He sagged against the doorframe, snatched another breath and, inaudibly to a human but not to a cyborg, counted to five before meeting her gaze with a tilt of his lips. “Wait for it,” he said, cocking his head, obviously listening for some cue.

  Jay was still analyzing Michael’s interesting responses when “it” careened through the kitchen doorway and darted across the passageway into the sitting room, disappearing from view.

  She analyzed the visual snapshot she’d taken of the creature, comparing it to the other data her sensory receptors had gleaned.

  Ah. She turned her gaze on Michael, and raised one eyebrow. Since Tyler’s father was most definitely human, and might well be too distracted to interpret the meaning behind the gesture, she added, “I presume you have an excellent reason for choosing this particular moment to fulfill the terms of our wager.”

  By “this particular moment”, Jay alluded to what they both knew was going to be the polar opposite of a happy reunion. Jay had only to evaluate previous reactions from Davidson family members to past events to know there would be explanations demanded, less than satisfying answers offered for the sake of those directly affected, recriminations leveled.

  Michael scratched his chin. His lips twitched, and the skin at the outer edges of his eye sockets crinkled as he fought to contain a smile that Jay identified as a perfect example of wry. “He wasn’t due for another few days,” he said. “The breeder screwed up the dates and arrived while I was giving Danny a bath. Marissa was napping so Caro answered the door.” He shrugged. “No way could I put the woman off and ask her to keep him a few more days once Caro laid eyes on him. She swears she’ll take him if you’re not keen, by the way.”

  Jay directed a portion of her attention to the hallway. The scrabbling of claws and a sudden yelp indicated her prize had inadvertently introduced itself to a piece of furniture. Or perhaps a wall. “Hardly practical,” she informed Michael, “when Caro is sharing a rented apartment, spends barely any time in it, and hasn’t got a dime to spare after her myriad expenses are deducted.”

  “Expenses” in Caro’s case meant clothes, and materials to construct clothes, followed closely by shoes and any other accessories deemed necessary to outfit a budding fashion maven.

  Mike’s sigh accompanied an eyes-to-the-ceiling gesture that managed to convey both pride and exasperation. “Of course Tyler pointed that out to her. And they’ve been bickering about it ever since.”

  The yelp had heralded a series of high-pitched whines that showed no sign of ceasing any time soon. Beside her, Mike winced and scrubbed a hand over his face. “God. If he wakes Danny again, Riss will kill me.” He brushed past Jay and strode off down the hallway.

  Jay doubted Marissa would literally kill her husband, but a mother protecting her infant was certainly capable of inflicting serious bodily harm upon anyone she deemed a threat to the infant’s wellbeing, and Jay couldn’t imagine Marissa being the exception to that rule. Too, while afflicted by the post-birth hormones coursing through her body, Marissa might consider it quite logical to blame Jay for both the pup’s presence in her house, and the disruption it had caused, despite Jay not being privy to Michael’s plans. It would be prudent to take immediate action to prevent a ruckus that would disturb young Daniel Robert Davidson’s routine. “Wait,” she called to Michael. “Let me deal with this.”

  Michael halted and flattened himself against the wall as though trying to make himself a smaller target. “Be my guest. And for all our sakes, I sure hope you have better luck than I’ve had calming him down. Once he gets going—”

  “I understand. Time is of the essence.”

  Jay accessed her databases. Perfect. Female canines nursing offspring secreted what was known in laymen’s terms as “appeasing” pheromones. These pheromones soothed the puppies, and provided reassurance and comfort. She tweaked the chemical balances within her body and began to secrete an appropriate pheromone concoction through her pores. She would of course train the pup to respond solely to her commands, but for now there was no logical reason not to “cheat” via the judicious use of pheromones.

  The pup’s whines subsided, and then he gave an “Arroooo” that could easily have been interpreted as the canine equivalent of a question.

  “Komm,” Jay said.

  Her command was answered by the sharp clicks of claws on wood, and then a dark-brown head crowned with floppy ears poked around the corner.

  The pup’s eyes were yellow rather than the more common—and desirable—brown. Right now, those “bird of prey” eyes were eyeing Jay like she was some never before encountered, wholly unpredictable creature.

  “Hier!” Jay crouched and clicked her fingers, effectively wafting more “feel good” pheromones in the pup’s direction.

  He crept from behind the wall and stood there, quivering, allowing Jay to get a good look at him.

  A breeder would likely describe the pup’s coloring as solid liver head, ticked liver-and-white body with black saddles. Translation: Solid chocolate-brown head, and a speckled brown and white coat with black patches. And unsuitable for showing or breeding purposes due to aforementioned yellow eyes and black patches.

  If the pup were capable of such emotions, he might well be grateful for his perceived shortcomings, given they had doubtless prevented the breeder from docking his tail—a common practice with this particular breed.

  Jay stared at the pup, unblinking.

  The pup cocked
his head and stared back.

  Jay slowly extended her hand. “Komm.”

  The little canine yipped, and launched into motion, rocketing toward her and eliciting a startled grunt from Michael, who was still plastered against the wall.

  The pup skidded to an ungainly halt and mashed his muzzle on Jay’s knee. He licked her hand, and then crawled into her lap to sniff her thoroughly. Jay remained perfectly still, allowing the pup to do as he willed. He obviously expected reciprocal attention, and Jay would bet a considerable portion of her monetary wealth that he had been getting a whole lot of it from the Davidson family—especially Caro. But he would have to learn that Jay considered attention a reward for appropriate behavior, not a right.

  The pup finally ceased sniffing and licking and wriggling, and lay quietly across Jay’s thighs. He was a quick study—not surprising given the traits of the breed. German Shorthaired Pointers, also known as GSPs, were generally highly intelligent and bold creatures. This pup epitomized the often boisterous nature of the breed, and if care wasn’t taken, that trait could easily become aggressiveness toward owners. In other words, the dog would establish its dominance over its human owner and then treat its owner accordingly. But to Jay’s mind, given the ease with which GSPs could be trained, and their affectionate natures, any such tendency was the fault of inexperienced owners. GSPs were known to flourish with owners who were firm, confident, calm, and consistent. As humans liked to say, it wasn’t rocket science.

  She dropped a palm to the pup’s head and fondled his ears. “Braver Hund.”

  “Braffer hoont?”

  Michael’s pronunciation was close enough that Jay didn’t feel obliged to correct him. “It means ‘Good dog’,” she said.

  “I guessed as much. Why give commands in German?”

  Jay scooped the pup into the crook of one arm and pushed to her feet. “It seemed appropriate given the origins of the breed.” And would reinforce to the pup that Jay was the one it must obey without hesitation.

  “Ah.” Michael emitted what his daughter Caro had labeled a snort-laugh. “And here I figured it was some super-duper secret canine training method known only to dog whisperers,” he said.

  Jay extended the range of her sensors to pinpoint Tyler’s whereabouts, and headed for the staircase. Her heart rate had escalated. Her mouth had ceased to produce sufficient saliva, and her body was… was….

  She sought a suitable descriptor. Vibrating. No. Thrumming—a sensation she had come to recognize signified eagerness and excitement. An all-too-familiar tugging sensation urged her to keep moving. And, if she had been a human fond of fanciful imagery, she would have described herself as propelled by need and want and desire for the object of her affection.

  Tyler. She craved his touch in the same way some humans craved their drug of choice.

  Despite the need to give herself over to these disturbing inner drives, she had learned enough about parent/child relationship dynamics to comprehend that Michael would be discomfited and perhaps embarrassed by what she intended to do to his son the instant she saw him again. Michael accepted at an intellectual level that his oldest male offspring loved an inhuman machine, but seeing it in action, confronting the reality, was another matter entirely. Perhaps a distraction would be prudent. “You got me,” she said.

  “Come again?”

  “I refer to canine training methods.”

  His eyebrows had furrowed and his lips had parted. His gaze focused on her, unwavering. He shifted, pushing away from the support of the wall so that his torso slightly tilted toward her.

  These physical cues indicated curiosity and interest. Excellent. “I do indeed have a super-duper secret canine training method, and it is not one a dog whisperer would have access to.” Hmm. That wasn’t entirely true, Jay realized, recalling a past conversation with Tyler. Wall outlet plug-ins that released calming chemicals to assist in the treatment of overly nervous pets were easily obtainable.

  “Any time you feel like putting me out of misery,” Michael said. “That’s a hint to spill your secret, by the way. Now, would be good. Especially if Caro’s going to be looking after that little monster. He’s barely slept five minutes since the breeder dropped him off, and now look at him. She’ll be beside herself trying to figure out how you managed it.”

  Jay didn’t bother to glance at the pup to confirm what she already knew: He was asleep. “There is no need for Caro to take him. He was intended for me. It would be rude and ungrateful not to accept him in the spirit with which he was given.”

  Michael opened his mouth—to voice a protest, no doubt—but Jay continued before he could speak. “If I’ve given you the impression that raising this pup will be an imposition and an annoyance, then I owe you an apology. If I had been given an opportunity to select a canine companion on my own, this little one is almost exactly the creature I would have chosen.” She held up a hand, pre-empting the response she observed bubbling to his lips. “I say ‘almost’, only because I would have chosen a female. Now, having interacted with this male pup, I am no longer convinced a female would have been the best choice.”

  She cocked her head, observing Michael closely. “In fact, when it comes to selecting the perfect canine to suit my needs, I find myself wondering whether you are able to read my mind. Thank you, Michael. He’s a delight.”

  He rewarded her attempt at reassurance with a crooked grin that reminded her so much of his son, Jay’s pulse ratcheted up another notch. Her core temperature rose, flushing heat through her body. Yet she chose not to dampen this physiological response. It was human. And Tyler deserved more than an analytical, unfeeling, inhuman thing that couldn’t comprehend his emotional and physical needs. After what she’d put him through, Tyler deserved all the humanity Jay’s evolution made her capable of providing. She hoped, for his sake, it would be enough.

  She sensed Michael waiting for her to elaborate and perhaps answer his request to reveal her “secret”. Likely, he would appreciate the revelation all the more if she delayed his gratification, and so she remained mute until she reached the stairwell and had negotiated the first riser. Only then did she look back over her shoulder and say, “It’s all in the way I smell, Michael. Right now, I remind this pup of its mother. It’s that simple.”

  Michael’s slow nod told her that he understood it truly wasn’t simple at all. And, since explaining the process would delay her reunion with Tyler, she was grateful he didn’t request further clarification. Instead, his eyes twinkled mischief at her, and he said, “I think I’ll keep that to myself and go with you being a puppy whisperer. I’d recommend you do the same. It’ll drive Caro crazy.”

  Since Jay knew Caro well enough to agree with that last statement, she saw no need to linger.

  She had taken but two steps when she heard Caro entering through the backdoor leading in from the yard. Jay inhaled, separating out and analyzing the scents. Caro had been picking apples. Meaning that if everything went well and Marissa did not demand Jay leave the house, Jay could offer to bake an apple pie for dessert. But now was not the best time to discuss such trivialities. Best make herself scarce before Caro waylaid her.

  “We’ll talk tonight, after everyone’s in bed.” Michael’s softly pitched words drifted up to her. “Go on up. He’s in his old room—not that you need me to tell you that.”

  Jay sprinted up the stairs while Michael, mind reader that he was, strode off to intercept his daughter before Caro realized that Jay had arrived, and commandeered her attention. A bloom of warmth spread in the pit of Jay’s stomach. Michael, as humans liked to say, had her back.

  She halted by the door to Tyler’s old bedroom. This was it. Make or break time.

  As though sensing his mistress’s uncertainty, the sleeping pup whimpered. Jay soothed him back into slumber by smoothing the fur down his spine. Unfortunately, her own concerns could not be so easily soothed. As always, they centered on her illogical but painful yearning for the young human male currently hiding out
in this room. Whether he still wanted her in his life once the pros and cons had been weighed. Whether he could forgive her for putting his family at risk simply by existing. Whether he still loved her….

  Or had finally wised up to the insanity of a human loving a machine, and decided to move on.

  Excitement and eagerness at the prospect of seeing her boyfriend again had been supplanted by another emotion—one that clamped her chest and squeezed like some giant vise, and made the back of her throat ache as she struggled to swallow a huge lump that she knew wasn’t real, but physically affected her just the same. And when she lifted her hand to the door handle, a part of her was shocked to see her hand tremble. The desire to run back downstairs and use Caro to avoid this confrontation was almost overwhelming.

  Jay analyzed her physiological responses and searched her databases for information, determined to put a name to this debilitating emotion that had so thoroughly ensnared her. Names were powerful labels—hence her creator’s reluctance to bestow one upon her. Hence the irony that she had eventually taken his middle name for her own.

  Yes. Naming this emotion would be the first step toward defeating it.

  Data from countless sources poured into her brain and in a microsecond, she had her answer. Ah. So this was what dread felt like. It was a minor miracle that humans functioned at all whenever they fell victim to it.

  Jay scrubbed the palm of her hand down her jeans, gripped the door handle, and opened the door to Tyler’s bedroom.

  He lay stretched out on the bed, hands behind his head. A sheaf of the manuscript paper he used to notate songs and music sat in his lap. His eyelids were closed, highlighting the blue-black smudges of sleeplessness.

  Jay inhaled sharply, locked her shaky knee joints, and wedged her shoulder against the doorframe to counteract abrupt dizziness. She performed a swift diagnostic scan of her systems, which only confirmed what she already knew: There was nothing that needed attention, nothing that required recalibration. Which of course meant her reactions were solely caused by him. Tyler. The young human male who meant so much to Jay that she would willingly sacrifice herself to keep him safe.